


You Say

by TheRavenintheMoon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s05e12 The Pandorica Opens, Episode: s05e13 The Big Bang, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenintheMoon/pseuds/TheRavenintheMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You say the Pandorica is only a fairy tale." A series of inner monologues from "The Pandorica Opens"/"The Big Bang."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Say

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own practically nothing. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, certain characters to Mr. Moffat. The song lyrics belong to Vertical Horizon; I have borrowed them from the song "You Say." The quotes come from series 5, mostly from 5.12 and 5.13.

You Say

They say _there was a goblin, or a trickster, or a warrior, a nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies, the most feared being in all the cosmos. And nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. One day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world._  

 

And you say _that’s just a fairy tale_. But _we’re all stories in the end_. Sometimes we’re the good wizards; sometimes we’re the villains. And sometimes, we just need to listen, to hear the story one more time, just as it was lived…

 

**I. The Alliance**

_Here in the light_

_It burns you up inside…_

 

“Think of the fear that went into making this box…”

 

The end of the universe was imminent, but it had still seemed a bit of a joke, this plan. It was almost too perfect. A box, for the Emperor’s sake, and who knew why the girl had cared about a box. And Romans! Honest to flipping goodness Romans! But the plan was easy to execute. A box made a great prison, and Romans made a great guard. And when the dust had settled, and the squabbling (highly destructive squabbling—just look at all the melted ships) was over, everything fell into place. Dalek technology was used to create the box. Sontaran teleports got all the pieces to Earth. The Judoon hauled rocks, the Nestene provided the Romans, and the Cybermen put it together. The Daleks oversaw it all, shouting and unnecessarily exterminating anything that didn’t do its job properly. No one was stupid enough to try to stop the Daleks from taking the lead, though. The Daleks had lost the most to the Doctor, over the millennia. And the Alliance got it just right. And they buried the box, and they spread the story. And then, despite their pure emotionless states, they waited, fear and anticipation burning with the intensity of an exploding TARDIS.

 

**II. The Doctor**

_It helps you out_

_Knowing I’m left out_

_Locked in a box with a light_

_That won’t shine…_

 

“The Doctor in the TARDIS doesn’t know…”

 

He’d heard the stories, of course. “The aliens built Stonehenge.” Well, “the aliens had built” the Great Wall of China and the Pyramids, but the Doctor knew _for a fact_ that those had merely been built by human ingenuity, blood, sweat, and tears. Probably. But his mind was wandering again. It was dark in the underhenge, a couple torches (and flickering, old-fashioned ones at that) hardly lit the Pandorica in all its glory. “Not just a fairy tale,” River had just said. But back under the wreck of the Byzantium, he had told her that it _was_ a fairy tale and she had asked, “Aren’t we all?” Which meant that this came out all right. She couldn’t have said it otherwise… “Time can be rewritten…” His mind skipped again, like a broken record that kept returning to things that had already been said. “Amelia Pond, like a name in a fairy tale…” Her favorite book, her favorite school topic—blimey, his head. He needed to stop thinking. No. He just needed to start thinking about the right things. Like the fact that the Pandorica was opening. And that Rory was alive. And that there were Romans. And… And… if River didn’t get the TARDIS here soon… “Amy’s Time.” But he had forgotten, in the excitement, in the dark. And the Doctor in the TARDIS hadn’t noticed.

 

**III. Amy**

_Turn it on and wait for_

_Someone to come…_

 

“I thought you’d come back for me, but she can’t even remember me…”

 

She had asked if it was safe outside, expecting some variant of “no” from the Doctor. She had not expected the sword-wielding centurion to look concerned. He was just a Roman, and they’d only just met. But the Doctor was talking to him. No, that wasn’t odd. The Doctor always talked to strangers. It was practically his occupation. No, what was odd was the nagging familiarity of his face, tugging at her heart in the same way the ring had. Oh, shut up, she thought to herself. What did it matter? _Everything_ here was vaguely familiar—Stonehenge and Romans and Pandora’s Box (The Pandorica, she corrected herself) and rings and—Shut up! She shook herself out of the mood. One of the men, mistaking the gesture for a shiver, handed her a blanket. About to protest, she realized that she was, actually, a bit cold, and took it anyway. She didn’t expect the centurion to come looking for her, didn’t expect the joyful leap in her heart as she saw him. It was like they were both waiting for something. He knew her name—he couldn’t—he shouldn’t—she knew his. “How could I forget?” And she was never letting him out of her sight again, damn the consequences. The last thing she saw was the stars, exploding like fireworks. _Wish upon a star_ , she thought, like in the fairy tales. She wished for the Doctor to find a way to make everything right. He always did. And then it was dark. They’d left her alone in the dark again, waiting.

 

**IV. The Doctor**

_I’m here now_

_Waiting_

_Holding on to reasons_

_Wasted_

_I faced it_

_Watching you deny me…_

 

“The Pandorica is ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready for you!”

 

The door shut. The hard green light refused to fade, and he was left staring at the intersection of the two panels. He wasted exactly fifteen minutes assessing the situation. He could not move, the light was not a light, no one was coming to get him, he was never going to die, the universe had ended without him… “Hello?” He spoke just to hear something. It echoed off the stone walls. He sighed, grimly amused for all the times he had been accused of speaking for the delight he took in hearing his own voice. Just as well, then, that he had all that practice. He focused his attention (as if he could look anywhere else, immobile as he was) on the corner, willing the door to open. Nothing happened. The minutes ticked by slowly. The universe had ended, and still his internal clock kept time. He’d never been patient. He sighed again. It was going to be a long eternity, trapped with only himself for company. He blinked, trying to deny the fact of the word “trapped.” But, as the events since he’d landed at Stonehenge played and replayed across his memory, he had to admit it. He was the monster in the Pandorica, and nothing existed to even remember to be afraid. Someone eventually would have disobeyed an order to never open the box, but there was no “eventually” left. Trying to ignore all the memories that were the fact of the word “monster,” he concentrated on the door again, willing, almost begging, it to open. He only succeeded in giving himself a headache. More memories slipped across his steely resolve to not remember. Maybe Vincent had been right. Maybe there came a time when there was no hope. He shifted slightly against his restraints, and, to distract himself, tried to form an escape plan. Much to his surprise, just as he had given up on every one of his increasingly far-fetched plans (all of which involved the use of his hands, which he did not have), the door slid open. He had never been so happy to see Rory. It looked like the universe, tiny as it had become, wasn’t ready to give up on him just yet. Well, then. “There’s always a way out,” he reminded himself. And then he saw River’s Vortex Manipulator. He bit back a grin. This was serious—the universe, Amy, everything was in peril. But he’d already formed a bit of a plan, and that meant that he hadn’t given up. There was hope. And he took off running, because, really, could anyone expect anything else?

 

**V. River**

_Here in the shell of a sun_

_We echo on…_

 

“There’s something wrong with the TARDIS, like something else is controlling it…”

 

He wasn’t her Doctor, not yet, but there was something about him anyway. Perhaps it was his purely Doctor tendency to just accept everything, to cross one bridge at a time. Though knowing him, this was because he’d left the last metaphorical bridge in flames and needed to face this one, now, or else he’d get burnt. She’d flown the TARDIS solo before now, on more than one of those madcap adventures that ended in flames, so she just assumed that he knew that he had let her fly it before. She never thought that this might be the beginning of that. She didn’t question his trust because she valued it. All too soon, and yet years ago, she stood to lose that trust. It would break, had already broken, her heart. _Wibbly-wobbly…_ God, sometimes she wished she’d never met the man. But she wouldn’t trade those times for anything. Except, perhaps, a way out of this situation. She didn’t like it. Honestly, Romans? But the Doctor hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary before her call. (Neither had she, but who was worried about that?) She thought about pointing out that he needed her. But it was too soon, she thought. He didn’t know what she was yet… And the TARDIS lurched, with warnings ringing, creepy voices hissing, red lights flashing, the whole nine yards—she couldn’t get out. She tried everything, but there was nothing, a stone wall, and—“I’m sorry, my love.” He’d never hear it, so why the hell shouldn’t she say it? And for two thousand years, no one heard the sound the sun was making: the wheezing whoosh of the TARDIS and the voice of River Song.

 

**VI. Rory**

_Left alone forever_

_All alone together…_

 

“Why do you have to be so…human?”

“Because right now I’m not…”

 

He drew his sword and sat. There was nothing else he could do. He’d made his decision, and for once the Doctor hadn’t questioned it. The Doctor always had to have the final decision. That fact alone impressed upon Rory the gravity and enormity of the situation. Leather creaked as he shifted, leaning back against the Pandorica. What did he care for the universe? His world was in that box. He wondered what Amy would think. If she would forgive him. Because that was what this was about, really. Sure, he loved her, and that was the most important thing. He had hit the Doctor for suggesting otherwise, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. But he was only human, and a part of him hoped that, if he could keep her safe, she would forgive him for killing her and making it necessary in the first place. “You’re always so insecure,” she’d told him. That had only been a dream, but, hell, yes, he was. He knew it. Amy had always been a step out of reach, dreaming of running away. The Raggedy Doctor in the magic box had stolen her imagination and her heart and Rory would never be good enough. He argued against that accusation. He remembered the world, and how it was. And he imagined how his life with Amy would go, after everything was fixed and she had (hopefully) forgiven him. He spoke to her, and, in the silence, he invented her replies. He thought he might be going a little bit mad, like the Doctor had said. But he couldn’t stop. And now…after two thousand years of arguing and pleading and fighting when there was no other choice to protect her, after two thousand years alone with no one but himself (and his inner Amy, as he’d come to think of her voice in his head, his memories), he thought that just maybe he was good enough. And though he was too conscientious to not patrol the museum, his heart leapt when he was pulled away from his rounds. It was after hours and there were voices, familiar voices, and they were in trouble. Remembering the Daleks from all those years ago in the Pandorica chamber and in Amy’s stories, he felt no guilt in shooting on sight. And then Amy was in his arms, kissing him, forgiving him. It didn’t matter that they were practically alone in a collapsing universe. For that one moment, long awaited, everything was right.

 

**VII. The Doctor**

_And you say_

_What did_

_I say_

_What did_

_You say…_

 

“Amy, you need to start trusting me; it’s never been more important.”

“But you don’t always tell me the truth.”

“If I always told you the truth, I wouldn’t need you to trust me.”

“Doctor, the crack in my wall, how can it be here?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m working it out. Now, listen. Remember what I told you when you were seven?”

“What did you tell me?”

“No. No, that’s not the point. You have to remember.”

“Remember what?”

 

But Amy remembered. And the crushing weight of oblivion, the knowledge that all memory of him was lost if one human girl couldn’t remember, lifted. The familiar hum of the TARDIS surrounded him, and, just as he’d expected (because there is _always_ a way out) he stepped into a wedding, the most important event in the world, simply because it brought him back. So why shouldn’t he dance? Why shouldn’t he celebrate his own escape, his own existence? But he couldn’t stay. He’d spent too much time trapped recently. He needed to get out and run. So he took off, looking, as always, for the next most important event in the world. With a smile for his companions, he hoped that it was a good one.

 


End file.
